


til death brings us together

by forever_er



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Office, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Barista Eddie Kaspbrak, Canon Compliant, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, One Shot, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, but don't let that worry you, very many alternate universes squished into one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_er/pseuds/forever_er
Summary: “My mom would kill me if she could see me right now,” he grumbles to himself. And then he edges to the light. Considers it from his vantage point. Really thinks about his next move. Will he venture closer? Will he not? God, the possibilities are truly enough to make a man need to take a minute.Eddie is not given a minute.Eddie is unceremoniously and abruptly pulled through the light, and then he blacks out.---Eddie Kaspbrak is dead, but that's just the beginning of his troubles. For some reason, whatever runs his universe won't leave him alone. Instead, it keeps throwing him into different universes, like it's trying to teach him something... and it isn't exactly subtle about it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 95





	til death brings us together

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a one-shot before, so take this for what it is. I came up with this idea, feverishly, in the middle of the night, and scrawled it into a notebook before passing out. I have only just finished it.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Eddie is dead. At least, he thinks he’s dead. He remembers, vaguely, the edges of his vision going dark. Remembers, too, that he was in pain―and then that he wasn’t anymore. He thinks Richie was there, hovering over him, fawning like a dick— _Richie was there_ —but then he wasn’t. Just like the pain. Just like Eddie.

So. Eddie is dead. Dying? Eddie examines himself, his surroundings. He looks… the same as he has for the past few years. Minus the giant hole in his chest. He’s wearing a sweater, his watch, same shoes as always (high arch support, extra cushioning, because you _cannot_ be too safe about foot injuries). He’s in… pure blackness. There’s nothing all around him. No sound besides his own breathing (should he be breathing? Does this mean he _isn’t_ dead?), which, quite frankly. Freaks him to all hell.

“Hello?” he calls into the nothing, but it’s like talking into cotton. There’s no echo, no vibrations. The sound ends as soon as it starts.

 _Fuck, I really wish I had my inhaler_ , he thinks, as nerves start digging their hooked claws into his skin. His inhaler could calm him.

Just as Eddie thinks he’s going to spiral and lose what’s left of his mind, there’s a golden glow to his right. He spins towards it automatically, even though he’s a little wary. He _was_ just chanting about turning _light_ into _dark_ , after all. Light isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Light had basically just gotten him fucking killed. Probably killed. Maybe killed? It’s unclear.

Still, this light feels… trustworthy. Eddie doesn’t know what that means, but. He’ll go with it.

“My mom would kill me if she could see me right now,” he grumbles to himself. And then he edges to the light. Considers it from his vantage point. Really thinks about his next move. Will he venture closer? Will he not? God, the possibilities are truly enough to make a man need to take a minute.

Eddie is not given a minute.

Eddie is unceremoniously and abruptly pulled through the light, and then he blacks out.

\---

“Can I take your order?” Eddie asks in a bored voice. It’s nine in the morning, and he’s been at the register for four full hours while Bev has been doing god knows what in the back room. Actually, God probably isn’t the only one who knows. Eddie knows, for instance, that she keeps both a cassette player and a box of cigarettes back there. So. That’s that answered.

The man in front of him orders a black coffee— _Gross_ , Eddie can’t help but think, as he scrawls “Bill” on the cup—and Eddie rings him up, plastering his best customer service smile to his face. He was supposed to go on break half an hour ago, but the place is too packed with pre-work caffeine addicts for him to run back and tell Bev that he requires her assistance. Because of course it is. Because this is how Eddie’s life goes.

Eddie quickly makes the man’s drink, and then spins around so he can face the next customer.

“Can I take your order?” he asks, as pleasantly as he can.

“Can I order a… you to go?” the man in front of him says, apropos to nothing. Eddie feels surprise knock his eyebrows to his hairline. He feels off-kilter. He’s wearing his pink pastel work top and shorts. He didn’t even brush his hair this morning. In what world would anyone hit on _him_ when he looks like _this_?

He looks at the stranger, then. He’s got curly hair, and a squinched up face, seems to be in his early twenties, too, just like Eddie. He isn’t bad looking, Eddie can admit. But, still…

“I’m not for sale, sir, and I would appreciate it if you treated food service people with respect. We’re not part of your meals, however much you may like us to be!” Eddie’s chest feels like it has expanded, like a bullfrog’s, in an effort to seem intimidating. He did not tell it to do that. 

The man’s gaze swings to Eddie’s, and Eddie feels a little self-satisfied at the shock on his face. Eddie crosses his arms, waiting.

“Uh…” the man says. Then he positively squints at Eddie’s nametag (he drew his name like the letters were stitches sewn taut by the needle attached to the final “e”. He thinks it’s cute. Also, it reminds him not to quite this stupid job so that he can afford to go to medical school.) “Ed…” another pause, “Eds, buddy.”

“It’s just Eddie,” Eddie says, glaring.

“Here’s the thing, man. I don’t have my glasses. I forgot them in my first hour lecture. I can’t read a goddamn thing. So, what I meant was, can I get whatever the hell _that_ is, on _that_ board?”

Eddie feels his face blanche and then go bright red. He looks behind him. On the board that reads “Special of the Day” in Bev’s pretty cursive scrawl, he sees a drink she’s named the “Too”. He remembers her explanation: “Because there is too much goddamn sugar in this drink. And too much chocolate. You get the picture.”

“Oh, I—I am so sorry,” Eddie stutters, embarrassment hot around his ears, “I’ll get that for you right now, sir.”

“It’s Richie,” the man says, cracking a smile, “You, Eds, can call me Richie.”

Eddie wants to argue that his name is not _Eds_ , but the line has grown exponentially since he started ranting at Richie, so he doesn’t have time. He curses quietly under his breath, and gets Richie his drink. Richie winks at him and walks off right as Bev comes back to the counter.

“Now you come back,” Eddie deadpans, and Bev just laughs.

\---

Richie comes in the next day, this time wearing the thickest glasses Eddie thinks he has ever seen. He feels like they should make Richie look weird, and they do, in a way—but mostly Eddie thinks the glasses suit him. Seeing them, though, he feels embarrassed all over again, like somehow he should have known that Richie was 80% of the way to being legally blind, probably—except when Richie get to the register, he’s got this grin snaking across his face. Eddie doesn’t know Richie, but he can only classify the look as one of scheming. He has a schemey smile.

“Can I take your order?” Eddie asks. Maybe Richie doesn’t even remember him.

“Anyone ever tell you that pink is definitely your color?” Richie asks, and Eddie feels his face heat again.

“They have, actually, but every color is my color.”

“That makes sense.” Richie’s still smiling. Eddie doesn’t think he likes that smile.

“Can you order, please? The line is growing behind you.” Eddie gestures behind Richie, and Richie nods absently. He looks up at the drinks menu and pushes his hair back, like that’s what he does when he’s thinking. Eddie feels his mouth go dry. 

“I’ll have two Toos to go,” Richie says, smirking. Eddie wonders briefly if he’s going to drink both of them himself— _that’d be scary unhealthy. He’ll probably have a heart attack tonight_ —but before he can even begin to make them, Bev comes up behind him and taps him on the shoulder.

“Break time,” she says, and Eddie barely restrains a sigh of relief.

“I’ll finish these drinks and then take my half hour. Thanks, Bev. Actually, no thanks, because I needed help out here, but I’m a goddamn hero and handled the morning rush by myself without getting a hernia, but also—okay, yes, thank you, I really need this break. Please stop letting me handle the morning all alone.”

Bev pats him on the back in a consoling sort of way, and Eddie figures they’re square.

A few minutes later, he hands the drinks to Richie, but then Richie hands one back. Eddie looks at the horrifying concoction in his hand like it’s something foreign. It may as well be.

“What?” he asks.

“That one’s for you,” Richie says, straw already chewed in half in his mouth.

Eddie looks at it blankly. Richie laughs and grabs Eddie by his arm, leading him to a table near the windows. Coincidentally, it is Eddie’s favorite table. He does not voice this.

Eddie sits at the table with this strange man, and feels at a loss.

Richie chews on his straw some more, regarding Eddie like he’s an animal in a zoo. Eddie takes a sip of his (Richie’s) drink, just to have something to do, and then immediately regrets it.

“What the _fuck_?!” he splutters, spitting Too all over the table. “This tastes like organ failure.”

Richie nods sagely, taking a deep pull and then swirling his drink around like they’re at a wine tasting. Eddie doesn’t know Richie, but he doubts he’s ever been to a wine tasting. A beer tasting, on the other hand...

“Yes,” he says, nonchalantly. “Yes it does.” He takes another unbothered slurp.

Eddie stares at him incredulously. Richie stares back, his eyes catching the sunlight. _His eyes are pretty_ , Eddie finds himself thinking.

“So,” Richie says, and the light behind him seems to get brighter. “You’re very attractive, I’m very attractive. Can I convince you to go out with me sometime?”

Before Eddie can answer, the brightness overcomes him— _Why does this seem familiar?_ —and he blacks out.

\--

The bookstore looks empty, but Eddie really, really needs to pick up a book for his class tomorrow. He promised he’d read a very specific book to his third graders, and if he breaks that promise, he knows they’ll never forgive him. And children can be very vengeful. Eddie knows better than to risk their wrath.

Eddie walks into the store, hears the bell on the door sound to alert the… nobody…? That someone is in their shop. But nothing moves.

Well, the door was open. Eddie shrugs, walks cautiously into the first aisle, and then, suddenly and unceremoniously, finds himself on the ground. With someone on top of him.

“Did it hurt when I fell from heaven?” the man on top of Eddie asks, blinking owlishly down at him from behind coke bottle glasses, and wearing the biggest and most self-satisfied smirk Eddie has ever seen on anyone in his entire life.

“Yes it fucking did!” Eddie wheezes, and then pushes the man off of him, so that he bangs into the ladder he just fell from. “You know you could have broken my back and paralyzed me? Or killed me? There’s got to be a million health code violations and I bet I could sue the hell out of you—”

“You’re very small,” the man says, peaceably ignoring Eddie’s threats. “And yet, so comfortable to land on.”

“Yeah, well you are _not_ comfortable to be under!” Eddie yells back, fuming.

The man stares at him, one eyebrow raised, and Eddie can’t help but notice that he has very nice eyes. But then he notices that the man is very clearly fighting a smile, and Eddie’s attention swings away from his eyes and back to his own words. Eddie thinks about what he said…

His eyes go huge, and he swings his arms like he does when he’s flustered, “That is _not what I fucking meant_ ,” he seethes. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Maybe they are.

He pulls out his inhaler, and takes a big puff, holding it until he feels his chest relax.

“Sorry that I took your breath away,” the man says, and Eddie decides then and there that he’s going to kill him. Anything to knock that stupid fucking smirk off of his shit-eating face.

“Sorry that you fell for me,” Eddie grumbles back, and the man absolutely hoots with joy.

“Oooh, handsome stranger gets in a good one!” he crows, and then he throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie tenses and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t feel the need to fight it, somehow.

“I’m Richie,” the man introduces himself. “Let me treat you to some free books.”

"Do you even work here?"

"Work here?" Richie huffs, indignant, one hand clutching at his heart like he's been wounded. "I own this establishment, buddy boy."

"It's Eddie."

"Okay, Eds. Then, let me get you some books. For free! In return for your marvelous, cushiony ass." And Eddie is a poor teacher, okay? Who is he to say no to _free_?

When Eddie opens the book for story time the next day, his eyes alight on the phone number scrawled on the inside cover.

 _I’ve already fallen for you,_ he reads, _so call me if you want to take the next step_. There’s a winky face next to the note.

Eddie smiles despite himself, and doggedly ignores his favorite student, Mike, as he asks him why he’s suddenly gotten so red in the face.

Then, out of nowhere, light bursts over his eyes, and he feels himself pulled away.

\-- 

“You’ll be sharing office space with Mr. Tozier, down the hall on your left,” Eddie’s new boss tells him, handing him a laminated name tag.

Eddie walks into the office, and takes in the man sitting there. His tie is askew. So is his hair. He has a stain on his shirt. Eddie feels like he should be disgusted, and yet…

Three weeks later, Stan from Sales finds them making out in the closet. Eddie has Richie backed up against the wall, one leg between Richie’s knees, Richie’s hair gripped in one hand. Before he leaves work that afternoon, Eddie watches Stan pass twenty dollars to Ben, who winks at him. Richie laughs and grabs Eddie’s hand.

Light floods Eddie’s consciousness.

\--

Someone has knocked Richie down. He’s crying, because they were big and mean and they took his block. 

Eddie doesn’t like bullies, and he especially doesn’t like bullies who mess with his friends. He marches up to the boy who took Richie’s block, and throws a hunk of clay at his face. 

“Hey!” he yells, his voice squeaky with youth, “You took something that belongs to my friend!”

The bully turns around, and Eddie fears for his young life, thinks briefly that four is entirely too few years to have on the planet, but he holds his ground and continues staring down the other boy.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asks.

Eddie stomps on his foot, and grabs the block as the bully drops it, howling. He brings it over to Richie just as one of the teachers comes over to punish him for being violent with another student.

Eddie doesn't care. Justice is worth it.

“When I grow up, I wanna marry Eddie,” Richie says, later, during circle time. The teacher had asked them what they wanted to do when they grew up. Eddie smiles a gap-toothed smile.

“I wanna marry you too, Richie.”

\--

“It took me way too long to figure out who I was,” Eddie admits, staring at the pale line etched around his gnarled fingers. They’re so wrinkly now, covered in spots and almost translucent. But somehow, the ring finger still has that line.

“Good thing you got there. One more fucking year and you’d never keep me awake with this sob story. Your mom never got all sentimental on me like this.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. Richie’s palm slides into it easily, like they’re two puzzle pieces, finally locked. His hair is white. Even his glasses don’t help him see anymore (though he insists they do). But Eddie doesn’t mind. He thinks he’d find Richie handsome no matter what he looked like.

\---

_In every world, in every universe, no matter what we become, I will always be yours._

\---

Eddie wakes up in… a much different place. He feels disoriented, a thousand lives flashing around and around his mind, a whirlwind of color and sound and feeling.

Eddie knows he’s dead. He also knows that none of those lives were real. But he thinks he knows what the point was.

“You aren’t subtle,” he calls, though he isn’t sure to who. The universe, maybe? God?

He knows what he has to do now, though. 

He waits. He has more time than the world, after all.

\--

“What took you so long?” Eddie asks, though he doesn’t know how much later.

“I had to make sure my adoring public would miss me,” Richie says, and his hair is gray, now, but his eyes are the same: wild and scheming and alight and beautiful.

“ _I_ missed you, dumbass.”

Richie’s gaze softens. His hands come up to Eddie’s arms, skimming them like he’s something to cherish. “I never stopped missing you,” he says.

There’s a moment where Richie looks at him—really looks at him, and Eddie wonders if they’re on the same page. It’s been a while, but they used to be, mostly. He used to be able to read Richie like they shared one mind.

Eddie thinks, even if they aren’t, _Fuck it_.

Thinks, _It’s not like it’ll kill me to try_.

When he lunges at Richie, he’s fourteen, twenty-five, forty. His legs are around Richie’s waist, and Richie too, is a shimmering mirage, vacillating wildly between twelve, fourteen, sixteen, forty.

 _This is when he knew he loved me_ , Eddie thinks.

“You _do_ love me!” Richie says on a gasp. Then, “Your mom is not gonna take that very well.”

Eddie shuts him up with a kiss, then presses their foreheads together, so that they’re breathing each other’s air. Eddie thinks maybe this is the reason the dead can still breathe, and he finds that he’s grateful for it.

“I can’t believe we ended up in the same afterlife,” he grumbles against Richie’s skin, but he knows Richie feels the smile there.

Richie sets Eddie down, but he keeps a hold on Eddie’s hand. They’re both in their forty-year-old bodies, and they fit nicely together.

“Til death do us part,” Richie says, seriously.

“Death better fucking not,” Eddie says, and then they’re kissing again, and Richie is laughing, and Eddie is laughing, and

Everything finally makes sense.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! If you did, please don't hesitate to leave me a comment, or kudos. I love nothing more than when people want to talk about my works. I would also love to hear what your favorite parts were, because I get... way more excited than I should when stuff I write resonates with people.
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading!
> 
> (Also, would people be interested in this turning into a series where I elaborate on some of the lives? And if so, which one should I start with?)


End file.
